


Through the bottom of a bottle

by Tayani



Series: ShuAke Confidant Week [17]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bad Mental State All Around, Canon Compliant, Comfort (?), Look Goro Has A Lot Of Issues, M/M, Persona 5 Spoilers, Post-November 20 Interrogation (Persona 5), Shuake Week 2020, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tayani/pseuds/Tayani
Summary: Shuake Week Day 7: Free dayAfter November 20th, Goro collects his reward for apprehending the leader of the Phantom Thieves and decides to celebrate.Or that's what he initially told himself, at least.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: ShuAke Confidant Week [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1172450
Comments: 27
Kudos: 69





	Through the bottom of a bottle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lia404](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lia404/gifts).



“30 million yen, Akechi-kun, as agreed.”

The briefcase looks nauseatingly similar to his own, only the letter  _ A  _ lacking. Goro smiles a perfectly rehearsed smile and picks it up, fingertips skimming over the rows of banknotes before snapping the case closed.

It’s not an official reward, of course. The bounty on the Phantom Thieves’ heads will be laying frozen in the bank until the trial that won’t happen, and in the end, it’ll be quietly forgotten about. But Shido had off-handedly offered him the prize - a bonus, he said, with a sly little grin that made Goro want to tear him limb from limb - and he wasn’t going to refuse.

And now, with the leader of the Phantom Thieves dead and the reward dully collected, the whole business can be considered done and finished.

Goro isn’t sure how he reaches his flat again, but there he is, looking at himself in his bathroom mirror. He feels sick, his empty stomach twisting and turning, his mind desperately pushing away the sight of splattering blood and Joker’s empty, ridiculously surprised stare.

He retches, though nothing comes out.

Hours pass. It’s still early - it’s a rare free day for him, no interviews, no school. Shido had orchestrated it to be so, Goro knows. A little holiday, another prize for a job well done. A bone, thrown to a faithful dog. Like the money.

He’s rich now, Goro thinks, dully, staring at the briefcase. He pulls himself up from the floor - why was he sitting on the floor anyway? - and rummages between the identical ten thousand yen notes.

He picks a whole wad of them and dresses in his more inconspicuous attire. Not many people are out today, and he buys himself some ready meals from the konbini before his eye catches a glimpse of a nearby high-quality liquor store.

Like an automaton, Goro marches into it and grabs a too-expensive bottle of whiskey, and another one, both of which he can now afford, thanks to Shido’s generosity.

No… thanks to Joker’s  _ stupidity _ . 

The clerk doesn’t bother to ask for his ID. It isn’t a surprise to Goro. He goes back home still in a daze, feeling both some kind of thrill and nauseating, head-spinning guilt eating him alive. 

He drops the food he got in the kitchen - the frozen tsukemen already starting to melt, but he can’t be bothered to put it in the freezer. Vaguely, Goro tries to remember how one should drink whiskey. Shido would sometimes drink it while listening to Goro’s reports. He’d pour it over ice, sip it from a glass…

Goro stares at the first bottle and then drops onto the kitchen floor, throwing the cork away. Still in his coat, in an empty flat with only the kitchen light on, he raises the bottle high up in the air.

“Thanks for the drink, Ren.”

The first swig he takes is bitter and burning all at once. It makes him cough, his whole mouth seizing up in disgust. The next one is easier - it’s like pulling a trigger, really. Laughing, his hands shaking on the glass of the bottle, Goro takes another swig.

The weather outside is lovely - perfect for a walk, for admiring the newly reddened leaves. And yet, Goro thinks it must be raining.

He touches his cheeks and laughs again, high-pitched, maniacal.

This time, he hardly grimaces as the alcohol slides easily down his throat.

* * *

Goro dreams.

He rarely does that. Dreams are a luxury he cannot afford and is rarely gifted. He’s usually too tired to remember them, even if he has any. On the days he doesn’t tire himself out enough before bed, nightmares are more likely to happen than dreams.

So Goro dreams on the night he killed the one man who loved him, and somewhere deep inside, he thinks of what an irony this is.

He dreams of gentle hands and an even gentler voice. He dreams of sighs, of exasperation, of being carried and washed and cared for.

It must be a dream, for never in his memory had something like that happened to him. He remembers his mother putting a band-aid over a scraped knee or a blanket over a feverish body, but nothing so loving, so  _ gentle _ .

Goro never allows himself to enjoy anything much, but just this once, he luxuriates in the warmth surrounding him, in the pleasant, nostalgic smell and the comforting sound of the voice. If he tries, he can even feel a touch of lips pressed against his forehead, a hand finding his and squeezing it tight.

So he dreams and pleads with his mind to let him dream on. After all… the world he is to wake up in being what it is… won’t it be better to never wake, and just… dream..?

* * *

Morning comes in the unpleasant form of a splitting headache.

Goro almost enjoys it, truth be told. Blearily cracking his eye open, the migraine and the awful, dizzying nausea squeezing his insides make it easy to ignore any thoughts and memories from yesterday. Slowly, trying to move his head as little as possible, Goro sits up on the bed.

_ Wait _ .

He blinks, trying to get his useless mind in gear. He is in his bed, in pyjamas, the sheets freshly changed. His body feels sweaty and gross, but he is almost certain that is thanks to the hangover, not any…  _ exertion  _ he could have undertaken the day before. The lights are turned off, the shutters closed - and there, on the nightstand, there’s a glass of water and a few aspirin tablets.

Slowly, Goro reaches out and takes the glass in hand.

He doesn’t remember a lot from last night, his memory cutting off somewhere between the whiskey bottles. Still, he supposes he could have enough sense to get into bed, prepare for the morning…

...probably not enough sense to go and buy some aspirin, as there was none in the house itself.

Goro smiles, takes the tablets and swallows them, followed by a few deep gulps of water. He remembers his dreams and tries hard not to laugh again. His headache is getting worse, and laughing is not going to help it. Suddenly, with a surprising bout of strength, he throws the glass across the room, watching it shatter into a million pieces all across his bedroom floor.

_ Don't be ridiculous _ , Goro thinks, bitterly, and hits his head against the wall, hissing at how badly his headache spikes in response.

Good. The pain was good. If he only focuses on the pain…

His eyes stray to the nightstand and the last remaining aspirin tablet. A tablet that had no way of getting here, unless…

_ There’s no way _ .

Slowly, limp like a puppet, Goro falls down on the bed and wishes he could dream again.


End file.
